


I talk about you (to my psychiatrist)

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff, Hannibal is a dick, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Valentine's Day Fluff, beware of cannibal psychiatrists, consulting boyfriends, everybody is alive and well and gay, hints of cannibalism, jim moriarty is totally alive and in love with sherlock holmes, let's pretend nobody fell from hospital roofs or cliffs on the atlantic ocean, mention of murder husbands, murder fluff, sheriarty will rise, spoilers for season 3 of both tv shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So, James” Hannibal began, professionally, folding his arms “what would you like us to discuss today?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Jim dithered for a second. He didn’t really want to utter his recent thoughts all at once – but after all he was the one he asked Hannibal for his consultation, so it was worth doing the thing in a proper manner.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Well” he started muttering, cracking his neck and fingers, almost breathless “lately I – I’ve been thinking about someone.”</i>
</p><p> <br/>Or, in other words, how Hannibal Lecter helped Jim Moriarty in admitting his feelings for Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I talk about you (to my psychiatrist)

James stretched his limbs in his comfortable leather armchair, crossing his legs and bringing a hand below his chin.  
Since the day he faked his death, he'd had plenty of free time at his own disposal. Indeed, he still had plans to make and important details to arrange – like getting ready for his very unexpected _return from the grave_ – but he had finally managed to find some spare time to take care of himself.  
He couldn't quite place, though, the exact moment when he'd decided to consult a _therapist_.  
Not that he was sceptical about the benefit of it – everybody, at a certain point in their life, felt the need to turn to a specialist, and though he’d never admit it to himself nor anybody else, even the one and only Consulting Criminal that ever crossed this planet, the notorious King of Crime was _human_. Well, a particular kind of human, of course, but by any other means still human – in any case he’d never say it out loud, and he preferred repeating himself that the sole reason why he’d do such a thing was because he was starting to get bored and had nothing better to do.  
Besides, the psychiatrist was one of the most loyal between his current clients: Moriarty had recently helped his husband and him to flee from the United States after he was almost sentenced to death for something pretty odd – something like _cannibalism_.  
Anyway, that’s how he ended up sitting in his white-leather armchair in his luxurious villa in Provence, in front of an eager-to-listen Hannibal Lecter.

“So, James” Hannibal began, professionally, folding his arms “what would you like us to discuss today?”

Jim dithered for a second. He didn’t really want to utter his recent thoughts all at once – but after all he was the one he asked Hannibal for his consultation, so it was worth doing the thing in a proper manner.

“Well” he started muttering, cracking his neck and fingers, almost breathless “lately I – I’ve been thinking about someone.”  
Jim exhaled, as if he’d just made a huge effort – which he actually did.

“And who’s the subject of your thoughts?” the psychiatrist politely demanded in his smooth, Lithuanian accent.

“Sherlock Holmes” the criminal responded after a few moments of hesitation, carefully avoiding any kind of eye contact with the doctor.

Then silence fell for a couple minutes, and James could hear the clink of glasses from the kitchen, on the other side of the wall. His butler was preparing margaritas for the two of them. The sound of different liquids being poured made his mind wander across the English Channel, in the crowded streets of the United Kingdom’s capital city, precisely in one, special street whose name had something to do with baking. A street in which a certain handsome, blue-eyed detective lived. That maybe was taking a shower in that very moment…

“…James?”

The criminal was still lost in the image of Sherlock having a shower when the psychiatrist’s voice abruptly dragged him back to reality.

“Yes.”

“You said the name Sherlock Holmes. You’re referring to the so-called consulting detective, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“The person that described you as a spider in court.”

“Yes” answered Moriarty, pretty irritated by that last comment. “Him.”

“And why do you find yourself thinking about him lately?”

That was a tough question – _why_. To be honest, there wasn’t any particular reason – or, as somebody else could point out, maybe _every possible reason_.

“I – I don’t know.” James admitted, sincerely. “It just happens.” He paused for a second, then found the courage to add “actually, it happens all the time.”

“I see” Lecter replied, assuming a pondering pose. “Could you illustrate me what happened between the two of you?”

Another _extremely_ complicated question. Where was he supposed to start? Maybe from the very beginning, when he'd killed a teenager athlete only to catch Sherlock’s attention when they were kids? Or from their last, intense meeting, in which he'd tried forcing the detective to commit suicide, threatening him to end his friends’ lives if he didn’t?

“Well, as you may have heard, we – we had a few _misunderstandings_. Mainly because of our different interests – he works for the _good ones_ ” James explained, using air quotations, a disgusted frown on his oval face. “Dull. I honestly can’t understand why does he keep doing that, you know. Being good. Where’s the _excitement_ in that.”

Hannibal chuckled, without letting his patient notice. Though that wasn’t the appropriate moment to do so, he couldn’t hold himself from agreeing with the consulting criminal.

“Anyway, he chose to be one of them, instead of having fun like _I_ do. Maybe it’s his fat brother’s fault, I don’t know, but that’s how things go.”

“And you’re not satisfied with his decision, are you?”

“ _ABSOLUTELY NOT!_ ” Moriarty yelled, suddenly going falsetto. Embarrassed for his unexpected, exaggerated reaction, he immediately waved his hands, trying to justify himself without looking awkward. “I mean, it’s such a shame for a brain of his calibre to be used solely for such _stupid_ purposes.”

“And, in your opinion, which could be _not-such-stupid_ purposes?”

James flinched. He never really mulled over what would’ve happened if Sherlock Holmes decided to dump Johnny-boy and all those other idiots from New Scotland Yard and, instead, enjoy his life a bit more.

“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe…well, _maybe_ he could team up with me.”

Before he could entirely realise what he was about to say, the words had already come out of his mouth. He remained frozen in his position for a while, his hand raised in an explaining gesture, unsure on how to cope with the sentence he had just pronounced.  
_Sherlock and him working together_.  
How the hell did he end up even considering such thing? Had he gone completely crazy? Well, he was aware of not being the most _balanced_ person on Earth, but that was too much even for his maniac, criminal mastermind.  
Or maybe…  
For a second, he imagined how could it be if the two of them weren’t nemesis anymore. What their wonderful brains could accomplish if they collaborated. How life would be if they established some sort of _relationship_.

“So you think the two of you could be partners instead?”

Jim stared at the doctor in front of him, speechless. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

From the big, white-wooden window blew a blast of chilly, perfumed summer breeze. All of a sudden the butler appeared by Moriarty’s side, silently laying two colourful cocktails on the crystal table between the two men, breaking the uncomfortable silence that Hannibal’s question had just created. After delivering his task, the butler left the living room as quietly as he arrived.  
James straightened the wrinkles on his brand new Givenchy’s t-shirt, uneasy, then took a sip of his refreshing, alcoholic drink.  
Doctor Lecter did the same, before clarifying his point to his dazed and confused patient. 

“Well, your belief that Sherlock Holmes is wasting his time, entertaining himself the way he’s doing, is crystal clear. And it seems rather obvious too” he continued, after savouring another sip from his glass, “that you desperately crave his attentions, both in an intellectual and in a physical way.”

Desperately crave his attentions in both an intellectual and physical way.

 _Desperately_ crave his attentions in both an _intellectual_ and _physical_ way.

_DESPERATELY CRAVE HIS ATTENTIONS IN BOTH AN INTELLECTUAL AND PHYSICAL WAY._

James Moriarty’s heart skipped a beat.  
That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He and Sherlock doing what – _fucking_? Or worse: _kissing_? Hanging out together, maybe holding hands? _Calling each other with repulsively cute nicknames and doing ordinary stuff like celebrating Valentine’s Day?_  
That was totally, absolutely, undeniably _impossible_.  
Though, to be completely honest, the first option didn’t look that dramatic after all. It was nothing new that Moriarty was interested in his same sex – he had always been attracted to men and never bothered hiding his preferences. Not to mention that Sherlock Holmes was just his type: tall, broad-shoulders, aquamarine eyes, a pair of cheekbones so pointy that – to quote Irene Adler – he could cut himself slapping them.  
Okay, maybe neither the second image seemed so bad – _at all_. The detective was gifted with a pair of full, pink lips, and Jim – well, he sometimes _might_ have dreamed about pressing his own against them.  
As for the hanging out part, technically they had already done something like that, if faking their suicide on the top of an hospital could be considered a _date_.  
Beautiful. Elegant. Charming. Out of the ordinary. Clever.  
_Damn_.

“I’m-I’m not desperate, at all –”

“Then why asking for my professional help, if the matter didn’t concern you that much?”

If there was something to be sure of, it was that Hannibal Lecter definitely was a dickhead.  
Or maybe it was only part of his work – but that didn’t really matter at the moment.  
James sighed, defeated. He brought his long and slender fingers to his hair and messed his black, slick locks, his forehead starting to shine due to sweat. He perfectly knew what the doctor was about to say, and _for god’s sake_ that was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.  
Nevertheless the psychiatrist, raising his glass to enjoy the last sip of his cocktail, nonchalantly spoke the fatal words.

“I positively think that the sentiment you feel for Sherlock Holmes could be classified as _romantic love_.”

The criminal frantically grabbed his margarita and gulped it all down his throat.  
_He was definitely going to need more than a single glass._

 

*

 

Sherlock chuckled, as his lover theatrically narrated the end of the amusing anecdote.

“And that’s the story of how I realised I was hopelessly in love with you.”

The detective leaned over James’ lips and kissed them passionately. “It took you the consult of a cannibalistic serial killer to admit your feelings for me? How romantic.”

The criminal laughed, then rolled on the side of the bed to take something out from the nightstand. He opened the drawer and grabbed a wine-red package, decorated with a silk ribbon of the same colour, then handed it to Sherlock.

“At least I didn’t ask for his help to make you these. I don’t want you to end up chewing somebody’s eyeball.”

Jim placed a chaste kiss on the other man’s cheek as he opened the box, revealing a set of miscellaneous handmade chocolates.

“Thank you, they look delicious. Happy Valentine’s day, consulting criminal.”

“Happy Valentine’s day to you too, consulting detective.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my little contribution to the Sherlock fandom in the occasion of Valentine's Day! I originally planned to post it on Sunday, but I couldn't wait anymore :3 anyway, this work was again beta'd by my awesome cousin Arianna (check her AO3 profile, she's TheKeyOfFailure) and it's also dedicated to her.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> ps: SHERIARTY FOR THE WIN <3 <3 <3


End file.
